by Kim Bailey
Eyes still closed, he laughs at me.
Frank Hartley, alcoholic, asshole of a father who ran his pregnant teenage daughter out of town and has done nothing but make her cry since she returned, just laughed at me.
“She’s special,” I defend.
“Fucking right she is,” he grunts. Opening his eyes, he stares me straight on. “She’s the best goddamn thing I ever did in my life. Worthless as I am, at least I’m leaving something good behind.”
Without fear, I stare right back at him. “No offense, sir. Do you really have the right to take credit for any part of how amazing she is?”
His eyes flash murder. Jamie said he wasn’t violent but I can feel the anger rolling off of him in turbulent waves. If he wasn’t robbed of all his strength by the illness, I think he’d probably be bashing my head in right about now.
“You’re a brave one,” he grits out, followed by a pained sounding moan. It’s hard to tell if the pain is physical or emotional. Closing his eyes, his voice is barely above a whisper, “She needs someone brave. She needs someone like you. Don’t let her run away from you.”
Damn. Frank’s full of surprises. He and his daughter may not have spent many years together but they’re both incredibly complicated people, with a hell of a lot of similarities.
“I think that might be a lot easier said than done,” I admit, “I don’t want to let her go. Trust me. I’m at the worst point in my life, finding her has been the best damn thing. She’s given me reason to look at my future again. Now that I’ve got that, I don’t want to give it up. Letting her go isn’t something I want to do but I’m worried she might not give me a choice. Your daughter’s got a real stubborn streak.”
Silence stretches between us for a while before I realize, he’s not just mulling over his response. He’s fallen back asleep. My confession has fallen on deaf ears. That might be a good thing. Frank Hartley probably isn’t the one I should be giving that confession to. I think I need to tell his daughter everything that’s on my mind. I should probably hold up my end of our deal – the very first deal we made, when I promised her I’d stop pretending.
But my timing is still complete shit.
Her son is on his way here. With his father.
Jamie’s been adamant that she’s done with Dylan but with him reasserting himself into her life like this, will she second guess that decision? Hunter’s well-being is Jamie’s driving force. If she thought it was best for Hunter, would she bring Dylan back into her life?
I need to find out. I need to take the chance. I need to stretch myself beyond today, start making some plans for tomorrow. Then, hopefully the next day. And then, maybe even the day after that. Hopefully, I can include Jamie in those plans.
But first, I have to meet her son. I’ve got no chance in hell if he doesn’t approve of me. Something tells me, Frank Hartley’s seal of approval won’t mean much, especially if Hunter doesn’t agree.
Startling back awake, Frank seems caught off guard when his eyes land on mine.
“Are you still here?”
“You were only out for a few minutes.”
“Well, shit. Quit wasting time I don’t have. Go tell her how you feel, you stupid jackass.”
“I want to sir. But like you said - what if she runs?”
“Then you better promise to chase after her.”
And so, I make a promise to a dying man.
For the first time in five months, I have something more than Day Zero on my horizon. For the first time in five months, I have a bigger goal than making it through the next day.
For the first time in five months, I make a fucking plan.
It’s almost two in the morning before I finally hear the car pull into the driveway.
I’ve been restlessly waiting for Dylan to arrive with Hunter, the past hour spent fussily preparing my sister’s old room for Hunter to sleep in.
Instead of reducing my anxiety, like I’d hoped, it’s only added an overwhelming sense of loss to my emotional mix.
Trina and I were never really close. Not unusual, given our age difference of four years and my sister’s relentless teen angst. That hasn’t stopped me from missing her, or stopped me from wondering what kind of relationship we might have had.
Would we have grown closer as we matured? Would she have gotten married? Had children? A great career in fashion, like she dreamed? Questions that have no possibility of ever being answered. Her life was cut so short.
Revisiting faded memories leaves me with a melancholy sense of longing. I miss the time that we shared. Even the awful, name calling, hair pulling, doll disfiguring fights - all moments that feel sadly lost. What I miss the most are the uncelebrated milestones, the unfulfilled bonding moments, all the things that will never happen. Moments that will only ever exist in my imagination. Can you miss something you never had?
These are the things I’m dwelling on.
It’s just a room. How can an empty space make me hurt so much?
Maybe it’s because the walls are still the god-awful bubblegum pink she’d asked my dad to paint it. The curtains, still the frilly white lace and gauze fabric concoction that my mom sewed together. It looks the same as it did when I was a kid. Like stepping back in time to my childhood. Except, most of her personal things have been removed and she’s not yelling at me to get out. The bare walls and empty closet, reminders of how long this room’s been void of life.
The room itself is enough to dredge up the past, but the cause of my deepest pain is the pile of her notebooks, stacked neatly on the bedside table. Those notebooks were a lot more like a diary than Trina ever cared to admit. She protected the damn things like they were her babies, never letting any of us near them. Although, that never stopped me from trying. Seeing them out, so fresh and dust free, makes me wonder if my father spent time looking through them. Did he turn the pages, reading her words, remembering the brilliant, beautiful, and demanding daughter he lost?
Would it be wrong if I did the same?
Not feeling up to any further torment at the moment, I put the books away for another time.
The room is as close to being prepared as I can get it. I’ve replaced the bed sheets with something closer to a shade of blue, and put all the old stuffed animals in the closet. It’s just a place to sleep but I want Hunter to be as comfortable here as possible. I want him to feel at home. And I want him here, now.
I’ve been uptight all evening. From the moment Dylan left the hospital, I’ve been filled with an anxious anticipation, a nervous energy that can’t be spent. Nothing has helped ease my tension. Not hospital tea, not coming back to the house for a shower, not parking on the couch to watch TMZ. Not even Eric, being the most dependable and conscientious man on the planet, was able to calm my restlessness.
I know that Hunter’s okay. That should be enough.
Dylan called me from the road, only a couple of hours ago. He gave me all the details he had. He’d even gone as far as calling his buddy in the Toronto police department for information. Not much to tell, since the incident was cataloged simply as a complaint by the store owner. According to the officers who took the complaint and escorted the boys home, it was only suspected that they were shoplifting. The owner had absolutely zero proof, admitting that to the officers. But Dylan’s buddy did mention, most of the suspicion was directed at Jackson, since the store owner thought this wasn’t the first time he’d seen him acting suspiciously in his store. Thank goodness for Dylan’s police connections. Maybe that uniform is good for something more than just lighting women’s panties on fire.
He also filled me in on what happened when he picked Hunter up.
Apparently, Vanessa and Ron were quite shocked when it was Hunter’s dad that showed up, instead of me. Apparently, they were under the assumption that I didn’t know who Hunter’s father was.
Yes, they’re still assholes.
Apparently, they were even more surprised to find out that Hunter’s dad is a cop. They also felt c
ompelled to explain their version of the story to him, which Dylan mentioned, didn’t quite match the official version.
No shit.
At first, I’d thought I might be crazy for trusting Hunter when he told me it was a misunderstanding. Dylan’s report reassured me that I’m not the crazy one. With their over-reactive attitude to my child, and the blind ignorance to their own, Vanessa and Ron have proved to me that it doesn’t matter how old you are when you become a parent - if you’re a moron, you’re going to be bad at it. I may not have had much guidance in raising Hunter but I would never blame someone else’s kid for the actions of my own. I trust Hunter but I also know he’s a kid. Kids make mistakes, just like the rest of us. Vanessa and Ron are adults - much, much older adults. You’d think they’d have learned how to avoid certain mistakes by now. Some mistakes, like calling someone a thief without proof, seem like easy ones to dodge.
Despite all of the reassurances from Dylan, from Hunter, from Eric - I still feel on edge. Like I won’t trust that Hunter’s fine, until I can see him for myself. Until I can hug that little shit disturber so hard he complains about a broken rib.
All of this worry. All of the anxiety. And only half of it’s about Hunter’s pending arrival.
I’m also extremely nervous because Eric’s here.
He insisted on bringing me back from the hospital. When I encouraged him to stay with Caleb, he outright refused. He called and asked his brother, Marc to stay overnight with Caleb and then attached himself to me, until he got me here. He said he was worried about me being on my own.
Truthfully, I was happy to have him with me. I’m still happy to have him with me, even though he’s sound asleep in my bedroom - his big, beautiful body taking up the entire double wide mattress. But I’m terrified of what Hunter will think. I’ve never had a man stay overnight. Even Dylan stayed in a hotel when he came to visit. Introducing my son to a new man in such a big way, seems intense. Especially since I have no idea what the future holds for me and this man. I’m at a loss for how to explain it all to my son, when I can’t even explain any of it to myself.
The minute I open the front door and see my wonderful boy, all of my anxieties are forgotten.
Closing the car, Dylan struggles to carry a semi-conscious Hunter in his arms. He may be nine and way too big for me to lift but half-asleep in the arms of his father, he looks like my baby. Rushing forward, I grab Hunter’s bag.
“How is he?” I ask, wondering if the whole ordeal was as traumatic for him as it has been for me.
“Besides being a lot heavier than he looks?” Dylan grunts, moving up the front steps. “He’s fine. Chatted my ear off for over an hour and then slept the rest of the way.”
“Was he upset?” I ask, pausing in the front hall.
“A little. I think he was more worried about Jackson. But we didn’t obsess over it. He was much more interested in explaining Minecraft to me. He also worked really hard at winning me over to his cause.”
“What cause?”
“I’m sorry.” He cringes, guiltily. “I agreed to pay for it.”
“What did you do?” I accuse, even though I already know the answer.
“It’ll be good for him,” he defends, “He’s such a good kid, Jamie. He deserves a dog - don’t you think?”
As soon as the magic word hits the air, Hunter rouses fully from his sleepy state. “I’m getting a dog?” He smiles, so sweetly – my wonderful, shit-disturbing, little angle.
Placing Hunter on his feet, Dylan looks down, lovingly at his son. “Is that really the first thing you’re going to say to your mom, after missing her for a whole week?”
“No!” Running into my waiting arms, Hunter throws his own arms around my neck, burrowing his face into my shoulder. “I love you mom.”
“I love you back, you little hooligan.”
As I hold onto my child for dear life, I examine Dylan, who stands watching us with a tired smile on his face. He’s made a big effort tonight. Hell, he used my actual name earlier, instead of calling me princess - that progress alone makes me really optimistic he’s going to fulfill the promise he’s made, to be there for his son.
“You’re going to need to work on your defense,” I tell him, with a smile. “Don’t forget, if I agree to this dog, it will be going wherever Hunter goes. That means it’s coming to visit you, whenever he does.”
“So, I really can get a dog?” Hunter asks, excitedly.
“We’ll talk more about it in the morning. You need to get your butt into a bed. You’re going to fall asleep on your feet. Come on, I made a place for you.”
We say goodnight to Dylan. Hunter surprises us both by giving Dylan a giant hug and thanking him for the rescue. Considering how little they know of each other, the two seem to be well on their way to creating a bond. I can only hope it lasts.
Once Dylan’s left, I take Hunter down the hall to my sister’s old room. Tucking him in reminds me what things were like, when he was really little - before he demanded that I stop tucking him in and kissing him goodnight. Now, he closes his eyes and happily accepts my kiss - a big smile stuck on his face.
“Mom, I missed you,” he murmurs, sleepily.
“I missed you too, bud. So, so much.”
“Thanks for believing me today. And if we can’t get a dog, I’ll understand.”
Dylan’s right. He really is a good kid. Good enough for me to put up with a dog in our tiny two bedroom Toronto apartment, with no balcony for when it has an urgent need to piss? That, I’m still not convinced of. But I will agree, he definitely deserves something. Maybe I could talk him into a cat instead.
“Go to sleep. We can talk about it all tomorrow. Goodnight, sweet boy.” He’s already fast asleep, before I leave the room.
Now that he’s here, now that he’s home, I feel completely drained. The nervous anticipation was the only thing keeping me awake. This past week has been the longest of my life - but I’m not complaining - it’s also been filled with some of the best moments of my life. Having Hunter here with me now, just makes everything that much better. There’s only a couple of dark spots hanging overhead. But they’ll have to wait until later - I can’t keep my eyes open, or my brain functioning, to deal with anything else.
Back in my own room, I crawl over Eric, wedging myself in the tiny spot between his spread eagle body and the wall. The minute I hit the mattress he makes room for me, pulling me into his warm and comforting arms. He does it all without waking, like he’s aware of me, even in his dreams.
Maybe it’s just because I’m so incredibly tired, but even in the tiny little bed, I manage to curl up into him and fall into one of the most comfortable and restful sleeps I’ve ever had.
* * *
I feel like a total ass, falling asleep on Jamie last night. She stayed up really late, waiting for Hunter to arrive. I’d wanted to stay up with her but after the full day we’d both been through, I hadn’t been able to keep myself awake any longer. Still, I wish I’d been able to help keep her distracted - especially with so many good distraction techniques at my disposal. I’m very positive I could have taken her mind off her worries.
Letting her sleep in this morning seems like the least I can do. Besides, she looked breathtaking, her hair spread out on the pillow, her full black lashes fanned across her cheeks. Utter perfection.
Dragging myself away from her was really hard. Exceedingly hard, since watching her in her sleep got me painfully hard. With her delicious lips pouted and her fabulous ass peeking out from under the covers, I had to hold myself back from touching her. I framed a mental picture of her instead, before adjusting my aching cock and leaving the room in search of coffee.
The house is quiet. I find myself surprisingly comfortable as I move around the kitchen, getting the coffee on and putting some food in my stomach. I’m fully relaxed, once my first cup of java’s in hand.
Hearing footsteps on the floor behind me, I expect Jamie but when I turn, it’s Hunter I find, sneaking up
on me.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he shuffles into the room with a giant yawn, his blond curls sticking up all over the place. He’s at that awkward age between little-kid and teenager, where looks and attitudes can all go horribly wrong. But Hunter is blessed with the good looks of his parents, and when he realizes I’m staring at him, seems anything but awkward.
“Good morning,” he says, as though it were normal to find some strange guy standing in the kitchen first thing in the morning.
For a moment I wonder if it is normal. But I dash that stupid thought from my brain, immediately. Jamie’s nothing but responsible and caring when it comes to her son. Hell, she was reluctant to even tell me she had a son. That reluctance had nothing to do with trying to hide him but everything to do with protection. Her son’s her number one priority - no way is she subjecting him to random men in her life.
At least, not until this moment. In this moment, I am categorically random.
“Morning,” I say.
Feeling awkward myself, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to handle this situation. Jamie and I didn’t talk much about this meeting. I don’t know how she wants to explain things - if she wants to explain anything. Did she even want me to meet him? Maybe she’d expected me to sneak out of here, before Hunter woke up. But he’s important to her, so meeting him is important to me. Besides, if I’m going to have any hope at all with Jamie, I’m going to need her son’s approval.
“Is there cereal or anything? I’m starving.” He stretches, drawing out his starvation into four long syllables.
Laughing a little as his exaggerated hunger, I pull open the cupboard to where Jamie and I stored the few small groceries we picked up yesterday.
“No cereal, but we’ve got bagels. And there’s even some butter in the fridge. Juice too.”
“Oh, thank goodness!” He approves, dragging himself to the fridge. “Orange juice, yes! My favorite.” Finding a glass, he pours himself some juice, before casually mentioning, “So … I’m Hunter. Who the heck are you?”